You Don't Know Jack!
by ScarQueen
Summary: Just a quick glimpse at Dante as a father, including the tricky buisness of picking out a name for his son. Short story.


Dante sniffed. He was there in the room, somewhere. Somehow the little pain had managed to get out of his crib again. Unwillingly a rueful smile touched Dante's lips. That was his son. He stomped into the room, his boots making a solid footstep sounds as he went.

"Now where did the boy get to?" he growled. Behind, he heard a shuffling sound. It was poorly hidden, but no doubt that would improve over time. Turning Dante went to the door of the room, hesitating in the threshold. The little punk…. Reacting easily, Dante lashed out, snatching the toddling menace by the back of his trousers. Easily hefting the boy, Dante stared him in the eye. Gurgling his son smiled back, both toothy gums exposed to the fullest.

"Boy, what are you doing?" he demanded. Laughing the baby reached out for his father's face. After a few minutes, Dante softened. Carefully he held his son. "What do you think is so funny?" he growled. "You're mother goes on day long shopping sprees just to stick us together and laugh it off latter."

So far the baby remained unnamed, neither him nor Trish could seem to agree on any single name yet. Shouldering the baby, Dante wandered out into the living room. The boy should have been sleeping right now, but that didn't look like it was going to be happening. The boy had a way of getting what he wanted, just like his mother. Dante chuckled remembering the faces of the doctor and nurses as his newborn son nearly broke the doctor's finger gripping it so tightly. Yes, this was his son alright.

Sighing, Dante sat at his desk, setting the boy down on the counter top. Sitting there, the two regarded each other. Dante eyed his drooling, grinning son. The boy had his mother's eyes, but the rest of him was the Sparda, through and through. The nurses had all said the boy's eyes would change after a few weeks, but they remained the same deep sky blue color to this day. Even his wispy white hair hadn't turned like they had said it would. Gurgling the boy began to play with Ebony.

Dante raised an eyebrow. It was unloaded of course, there was in no way the gun should have been able to hurt the boy, but that didn't stop the kid from neatly slicing his thumb open on the hammer's edge. Dropping the gun the boy began to cry, looking to his father. Leaning forward, Dante stared the boy in the eye.

"I'm not kissing that," Dante informed the boy, "you're half demon boy, not some pansy human."

The boy continued to cry, his tears leaving a wet trail on his green shirt. He stared at his father with big eyes, filled with crocodile tears. Mentally swearing Dante, gently took small chubby hand in his own. Quieting a little the boy watched his father. Gently Dante rubbed away the blood, revealing the smooth new skin underneath, perfectly healed.

"See that?" he demanded. "You heal fast, like a demon boy. You don't need to cry over flesh wounds like some human." The boy drooled and giggled, his chubby cheeks growing rosy. Irked Dante reached for Ebony. "Boy you don't know jack about your heritage do you? Nearly two and you haven't even said anything yet."

"Dante!" Trish was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, various shopping bags in her hands. She was hell bent on making up for the last nine months of shopping she'd missed. Dante eyed her as the boy began to laugh at the sight of his mother.

"Hey babe," Dante greeted her. Trish dropped her bags.

"What are you doing? He needs to take a nap now or he'll be a monster to deal with latter!" She headed towards the desk.

"He didn't feel like taking a nap," Dante shrugged. "The boy managed to get out of his crib again."

"It doesn't matter what he wants," Trish replied, scooping up the boy. Laughing he began to reach for her hair with pudgy little hands. "Why was he playing with your gun in the first place?" she demanded. "You know he could hurt himself."

"Trish, he's _my_ son," Dante retorted.

"He's a baby, Dante, not you," she snapped.

"He's half demon, babe, just like you and just like me. There's no way in hell he could have hurt himself." Trish sighed. It was an old argument.

"Dante, I know! But Jesus, he's only two. Isn't he just a bit young to hefting around daddy's forty five?" Dante raised an eyebrow, smirking. The baby laughed.

"Not that many good sales then?"

"Dammit you don't know jack!" Trish snapped heading into the boy's room with him. Carefully she set him in the crib. Dante tried not to laugh, she must have been worried. She'd come back a whole two hours early. Not to mention the boy would be out of the crib in a minute flat. "I swear, sometimes I don't know what's worse, the fact that he doesn't have a name yet or the fact that you're his father."

"You know you like it," Dante murmured into her neck, his hands on her hips. Trish sighed.

"I'm not dealing with him when he gets cranky."

"He won't get cranky," Dante replied.

"Because he's your son right?" Trish asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Dante chuckled, "because he's-"

"Jack!" The baby laughed staring up at his surprised parents. "Jack," he crowed again. "Jack-jack!" Dante started to chuckle.

"Well he has a name now."

"Jack!" The baby giggled, responding to his father's laughter. His first spoken words. His small hands waved, reaching towards his mother.

"I'm not naming our son Jack-jack," Trish replied crossly picking up the boy again.

"Jack will work," Dante replied easily. The boy giggled, giving his mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Turning he smiled up at his father. A small smile on his lips, Dante nodded his head to his son. The baby gurgled.

"Jack! Jack! Jack!" Trish sighed.

"Fine." Suddenly grinning she hefted up her son. "Jack, it is." The boy drooled and grinned, laughing. Turning she handed Jack to Dante. "Have fun dad. You two deserve each other," she sighed, a smile still on her face. The boy was crowing his name for the world to hear. It was starting to put him on edge. Slightly irked, Dante looked to the toddling menace pounding on his chest with small fists. The boy laughed, shouting his name over and over. It was hard to be stay annoyed at his little jackpot for long. Hefting the child again, Dante turned to follow Trish. There was no way in _hell_ he was changing the boy's diaper.


End file.
